


There Are Worse Things Than Dreams

by rainbowstrlght



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dreams, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowstrlght/pseuds/rainbowstrlght
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock thinks his card-playing companions are strange, but perhaps not as strange as their questions about his relationship to Captain Kirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Are Worse Things Than Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Unintentionally wrote this with too much canon inference - my apologies if that winds up being confusing! But if you've seen all of TOS and know "Yesteryear" from TAS, you're probably good to go.
> 
> This is a late birthday gift to the lovely [reezoo](http://reezoo.dreamwidth.org). Maybe now a New Year's gift? Hope you enjoy my version of Jeremy Brett's Holmes. ♥

 

 

 

Spock raised an eyebrow at the table before him, noticing the individuals to his left and right. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why the situation was peculiar, but he knew he would deduce it soon enough. For the moment, he had to determine which card he was going to play on the green surface before him, hopefully to best the other playing cards that had previously been thrown down.

“We haven’t got all day!” shouted an irate Klingon from the other side of the table. Which—peculiar fact number one—he was playing cards with a _Klingon_. Peculiar fact number two was the agreeable expressions from Admiral Pike and Abraham Lincoln beside him, as Keenser mumbled supposed acquiescence while standing on a stool.

Surak, of course, betrayed no impressions either way, but Spock had anticipated such. Sherlock Holmes fared no different, although he was watching Spock as carefully as Spock was watching him.

But observation would have to be set aside for the nine of hearts he was currently disposing, trying to gauge whether that was a decent play.

Commander Kor—and Spock just realized it _was_ Kor—sneered at the pile of cards before him and pounded his fists on the table. Holmes only _hmmed_ , while the Admiral actually spoke, “Damn it being a Tuesday,” and threw his hand on the table while saying, “Fold.”

It was an odd sequence of events. Spock wanted to say they were playing Poker, but that was not quite right, as his nine of hearts trumped an ace and four court cards. But he knew he was meant to take the pot anyway, which was expressed in... foil-wrapped chocolate coins?

Keenser threw his cards down as well. _His_ behavior was erratic. Keenser was fluent in Standard but was muttering and cursing in something else. Despite their years on the _Enterprise_ together, Spock had not yet learned Keenser’s native tongue—main issue being that Spock had vague ideas _what_ Keenser actually was.

But the Universal Translator should still work. Spock looked down at his inner arm and wondered if it was malfunctioning.

“Perhaps your talents are wasted on board the _Enterprise_ ,” Holmes drawled out in a familiar dialect, reminiscent of Victorian London.

 _Also_ what Spock expected as he looked at the sharp profile of the man beside him, impeccably dressed according to his time.

Another alarm bell went off at the observation, but Spock set it aside.

“Spock would not be anywhere else,” Admiral Pike contested. “Kirk needs him, and the Commander knows it.”

Spock was sure the Captain could handle himself—Jim certainly behaved that way most days—but the basis of the statement was accurate.

“Serving alongside that _Human_ ,” Kor huffed dramatically—which Klingons seemed apt to do from major battles to minor social offenses. “Unpredictable and careless.”

“Sometimes that is what is required,” Lincoln chipped in, literally and metaphorically. They had somehow started a new game and Lincoln was the first to call with three chocolate coins.

Spock looked down at his dealt cards, sliding them across the green before fanning them in his hands. All were twos—all _seven_ cards were twos.

Spock looked around him and noticed the avid expressions of everyone studying their own prospects. No doubt someone would point out the strangeness of his hand.

And yet… Spock said nothing. An inkling reminded him that the decks for Fizzbin were different than normal playing cards.

 _Fizzbin_. An imaginary game on Sigma Iotia II that Jim had used to outwit gangsters. What was it doing here?

Keenser revealed a nine of hearts with a rueful shake of the head, and the whole table sighed in sympathy.

“Don’t worry Keenser, I won’t tell Mr. Scott you blew your wages,” Admiral Pike said with a slight grin, and yet Keenser only grumbled.

The _Enterprise_ did not pay its officers in chocolate coins. Actually, the Federation used an electronic banking system and physical coins were rarely ever seen unless on shore leave.

Spock frowned. His head felt slightly cloudy, as if the pieces were assembling behind a blindfold.

“ _Well_ ,” Lincoln said as he contemplated his cards with the tapping of an index finger, “the circumstances that most define us are often unexpected.”

Lincoln would certainly know such.

“As I was recently saying to my dear Watson, when we first met I had no idea it would be a partnership to change us both.” Holmes was not even looking at his cards, instead turning his attention to Spock. “While I had deduced that he would be valuable to my practices, I was leaving out key variables in the equation.”

Spock could not fathom what these would be, yet Surak took the opportunity to enlighten him.

“Many underestimate the value of a bond.” Surak was apparently next to play his cards and he did not hesitate to lay down a six of clubs. “In Humans, bonds are not planned to the same extent as for Vulcans, which leaves many unprepared.”

Holmes quirked the corner of his lip with a brief thought, almost seeming to miss the notion that he was next to play. But he threw down a six of spades just as quickly, then held his cards close to him.

“It was unanticipated,” Holmes said to the tabletop, then lifted his gaze. “And yet, I must confess that with planning it might never have happened.”

Sherlock Holmes was incredibly peculiar. In the stories Spock had read, he had come across as contradictory—a man of science, yet still prone to spurts of emotionalism.

Spock had wondered whether he would’ve fared better as a Vulcan, but now Spock doubted it.

“No passion—a lack of desire!” Kor pronounced from across the table, judging them with his eyes and sharp tongue. “Now Nero had _passion_ , and it is how he destroyed Vulcan.”

Spock felt his head tilt, but it was not accompanied by the bile and anger he anticipated. Rather, Kor seemed too much of a caricature of the Klingon he had encountered—level-headed and calculated on Organia, so different from the rest of his kind—and thus Spock could not take him seriously. It was also a strange argument to be made, as Nero had used red matter and not passion to implode his planet.

Admiral Pike turned to the Klingon, jaw clenched. “Come again?”

But Sherlock Holmes hummed and answered, “He has a point.”

Coming from Holmes, _now_ Spock felt bile creeping up. And yet he did not speak.

“As this fellow pointed out—as deplorable as Nero’s actions were—they were motivated by the passion of _revenge_.” He ticked a finger in Spock’s direction. “Passion can be useful. Why, if I had just told Watson how much he meant to me personally, he would not have a failed marriage to contend with.” He sighed dramatically. “The fault is mine, as passion does take some courage.”

The whole table seemed to understand what Holmes was getting at, but Spock did not have the foggiest.

Admiral Pike turned to his right and lifted a glass from the back of a sehlat. “Thank you,” he said, presumably down at the beast as it shuffled away.

Spock narrowed his eyes at his cards. There were answers— _somehow_ this all made sense. But when Keenser yelled gibberish at him, Spock was reminded to set down a four of hearts.

The whole table groaned— _again_. Apparently Spock was proficient at this game.

Spock dragged the pot towards him while Kor threw an implement over Spock’s head—possibly a drink from the sehlat, Spock wasn’t sure, as he was distracted by several Orions dancing in the background wearing bird suits.

It was when he noticed red matter passing by his head—to the alarm of no one else, and in fact Keenser opened his mouth to swallow it—that Spock had to conclude there were too many improbable incidents happening at once.

He stared down at the mountain of gold coins. “I am dreaming.”

“Being on the _Enterprise_ feels like that,” Admiral Pike said wistfully as he unwrapped one of his gold coins. “Well, like a brutal dream that beats the crap out of you and makes you wake up sweaty, but yes.”

Spock couldn’t be bothered to answer that, taking the opportunity to unwrap a coin from his stash.

“Sometimes it is not the circumstance you are in, but what it can teach you that matters,” Surak answered mysteriously, which only annoyed Spock.

If he were dreaming, then Surak would surely spout something wiser than _that_.

“Why, yes, that can be true,” Lincoln agreed, now unwrapping one of his coins. “Sometimes you must make the best of a sinking ship.”

Spock shoved several coins in his mouth and tried not to think about it.

“Take, for instance, the underlying reason of this dream,” Lincoln continued, slow in his speech. “Normally as a Vulcan you would be in a calm, meditative state. However something occurred to you that your waking consciousness could not solve, and therefore it is resorting to—to—“ Lincoln waved a hand over to the dancing Orions, “ _this_.”

Admiral Pike glanced at the dancing girls. “Strange, but not bad, Commander.”

Spock saw his stash steadily depleting, but he kept shoving the coins in his mouth, crunching the milk chocolate and letting it melt in his cheeks.

“This poor man is in denial,” Sherlock Holmes said casually. “He would, of course, have as many distractions in his dream as possible to avoid the real issue.”

“ _Coward_ ,” Kor contributed, although he was leaning back in his chair and petting the sehlat. “You deserve nothing if you would not die for it.”

“Drastic.” Holmes clucked his tongue. “But again, true.”

“Now, now—Spock is not _cowardly_ ,” Admiral Pike interjected, splashing some of his blue drink onto the green. “Anyone who knows him and what he’s done for Starfleet will know he’s not.”

“And yet he will not seize what he _wants_ ,” Kor said smugly as he gripped the ruff of the sehlat, reminding Spock that he had absolutely _no_ coins left.

Holmes leaned over, stage whispering to Spock. “He will find another man. You know this.”

“He will _not_ ,” Admiral Pike slurred—or perhaps that was just Spock’s perception. “Jim is very devoted for a reason.”

Spock closed his eyes and tried to squish them as tightly as possible—yet that didn’t seem possible in dreams. Perhaps because it was like attempting to dive whilst already drowning in a swimming pool.

“It is illogical to deny what is natural,” Surak suggested most unhelpfully while touching none of his coins.

“That has _nothing_ to do with logic, and in fact, this entire conversation—dream—is illogical!” Spock felt detached as he saw himself stand up from the chair and shout it to everyone. A hand might have been raised, he wasn’t sure, as the sehlat rubbed against his calves like a feline and almost knocked him over.

And the levity of the situation was undermined by the entire table laughing—minus Surak, of course—so it hadn’t mattered, anyway.

“Young man,” Lincoln said between chuckles, “you are in a _dream_. Logic is different here.”

Spock looked over at Surak, who seemed to minutely nod.

“Indeed, the parameters of this dreamspace are yours. If there is illogic to be had, it is also yours.”

Spock sat down sharply, not appreciating the rebuttal. He felt warm suddenly and reached up to straighten his hair. “I accept my role in this… makeshift reality. However, it does not dispute the nonsense that my subconscious is spouting.”

Spock looked pointedly at the Orions, who were now juggling tribbles as they erotically danced.

Admiral Pike smirked, but thankfully said nothing.

Spock shook his head and huffed with impatience. “The individuals in this dream are arbitrary and do not seem to have a common thread.”

It was Pike’s turn to give him a humoring glance. “Is that so, Spock?”

Spock took a deep breath, with his eyes taking each individual in turn. While Surak and the Admiral suggested individuals that Spock respected, the others were not whom Spock would pick for Fizzbin conversation. Keenser especially was a wild card, along with Kor—although the latter had proved formidable in a mission years ago, so perhaps some begrudging respect still lingered.

But Sherlock Holmes… Spock gave him a sideways glance, noticing the gentleman now wore a deerstalker and was smoking a pipe. It was true that his mother had read the stories to him as a child, but Sherlock Holmes was not truly an idol of his.

But the man gave a sly glance of his own, then stated, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

 _Ahhh_ , Spock had heard that line somewhere. Used it, even. Earlier that evening when speaking to Dr. McCoy, who could never mind his own business.

It was like a screen projector in the room: _“I can’t believe you’re doing this, Spock. Running away solves nothing.”_

_“I am not running anywhere, Doctor. I was offered an opportunity on another vessel that benefited the Vulcan colony, and so I accepted.”_

_“And leave Jim? Is that really what you want?”_

_“You are persistent in this notion that I am departing with haste and with some emotional damage.”_

_“Probably because it’s the truth!”_

_“Or I am merely accepting another opportunity.”_

_“In a pig’s eye! I don’t believe that for an instant.”_

_“Then that is your loss, Doctor. As I have heard somewhere before—‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’”_

_“You’re going to kill him, Spock. He won’t know what to do without you.”_

_“Such hyperbole, Doctor. Since he has a security team, I’m sure he can manage.”_

_“But will_ you _manage?”_

And the room went back to normal, lights at 60% and the whole table staring at him—even with Kor expecting an answer.

Spock sputtered, then, “My answer was cut from the footage.”

“Then repeat it for us, Commander,” Admiral Pike said levelly. “What will you do without Jim?”

Spock didn’t even register the comment, a rote answer on the tip of his tongue, “I will perform my duties on another vessel, which are independent of his involvement—“

“No, Commander—what will you _do_? With yourself? Alone on that other vessel.”

It was a question that managed to leave Spock speechless, and he avoided Admiral Pike’s loaded gaze by observing around him. The Orions were now weeping for some reason, which was irritatingly emotional and made Spock wish to depart the room.

Instead Sherlock Holmes took one last coin, then shoved the rest in Spock’s direction. “Such a brilliant mind, yet ultimately an idiot.”

Spock narrowed his eyes. “I have been described as many things, but ‘idiot’ would be the least truthful of all of them.”

“Good sir, there are many types of stupidity, and an intelligent person can still house some of them.” Lincoln turned towards him and eyed him carefully. “I was a fool in my presidency because of my good nature, yet I was a learned man.”

“You were a victim of circumstance,” Spock said as he tried to ignore the lure of chocolate coins.

“I am not referring to my assassination!” Lincoln gave a weary sigh. “People always remember the assassination first, most annoying.”

“What he _means_ Spock,” Admiral Pike interrupted, “is that there are several types of intelligence. As much as I would trust you above all others on a scientific exploration, I would not trust you with your own heart.”

Spock frowned. “Irrelevant.”

“What, dear fellow, your _heart_?” Holmes scoffed. “Even I must confess that everyone is ruled by one.”

“Even you?” Spock asked, eyebrow raised.

Holmes gave him a patient look and Spock felt like Watson for a moment—the look of his mind being categorized as that of a speeding turtle.

“It was not easy to leave Watson behind when I falsified my own death at Reichenbach. I thought it would be easy to start over, to have no attachments on my person. But what I came to discover was that I had left behind my better self—my better _half_ when I pretended to perish into the falls.” Holmes sighed. “I sympathize with emotions being illogical and irrelevant, but they exist and have their place, nonetheless.”

“I do not see what this has to do with myself—“

“Rubbish, Vulcan.” Kor glared from across the table. “When I made a pass at him on Organia you were absolutely _livid_.” The Klingon huffed. “You were actually amusing there, for a moment.”

“It’s true,” Pike jumped in. “I remember when you came to me with your application to be first officer. The way you had been hesitant in asking whether Jim already had one—“

“I needed to know whether I was wasting my time—“

Lincoln frowned. “There was also that time on Excalbia, when Jim thought the Klingons were torturing me. You told your Captain it was a foolhardy mission, and yet you went with him anyway.”

“I had to see to his safety—“

“Oh, come now,” Holmes drawled once again, a tone that Spock now realized was amusement. “I doubt that your insistence on interrupting Captain Kirk on his dates with Edith Keeler were for his _safety_.”

Spock swallowed. “His attachment threatened the current timeline.”

“As does your lack of attachment.” Holmes folded his hands before him, not noticing the pink clouds that were forming on the ceiling. “Tell me, what was it that old fellow said in the hanger bay before you joined the _Enterprise_?”

Spock felt a moment of panic before he realized that he was dreaming—of _course_ Holmes would know those details in a dream. And yet, the panic did not cease when he had to repeat, “He described a relationship that would define us both—with Jim and myself.”

“He would know, hmm?” Holmes went back to his cards, as did all the other players, except this time there were tribbles stacked in the middle of the table.

Spock frowned at them. “Tribbles are an unreliable currency, as the value would keep inflating.”

“Details, details,” Holmes dismissed with a wave of his hand.

Kor only sneered and grunted in acknowledgement, flicking a furball across the table.

Spock was sure there was a point somewhere. All the gentlemen indicated an incident involving Spock and his captain, of which they seemed to sense some peculiarity.

Except… Spock glanced at Keenser, who was staring at his cards and shifting them, grumbling once again.

Spock recalled the first time he actually met Keenser. It was after the acceptance of his position on board, the first morning of his rounds. He had been seeing to an inspection of Engineering when an odd figure popped out from a panel of wiring near Spock’s head.  

It had distracted him from the Captain wheeling out from under another panel: _“That should take care of it.”_

_“Up here too, yes.”_

_“If you want to show me the other panel—oh hey, Spock, care to join us?”_

And it hadn’t been the casual invitation, or even the surprise of seeing Captain Kirk there before him. No, what had distracted Spock was how, without any forethought, he had lifted Keenser into his arms and set him on the ground delicately, like a Human child.

Keenser had not minded and squirreled away to the next panel. Captain Kirk had followed behind and given Keenser full run of the inspection. It had suddenly dawned on Spock how Captain Kirk was differing from the self-absorbed and careless cadet he had known—

Spock folded his cards in his hand, stacking them into a small deck into his palm: _That_ was the connection. That is why all of them were here. It barely had anything to do with Spock, at all.

“Doesn’t he constantly surprise you, Commander?” Admiral Pike said slyly as he fanned out his hand. “That is why you came on the _Enterprise_ , isn’t it?”

On Organia, it had been more than Kirk outwitting Kor—rather, it had been his passionate defense of the planet, his insistence on their maintaining a quality of life.

Likewise, when Surak and Lincoln had been killed on Excalbia— _“We’ll save them Spock, don’t worry. Although if Surak could pacify his way out of this one, that would be swell.”_

“And you must admit, Spock,” Holmes said to interrupt his thoughts, “his random sparks of brilliance and luck impress you.”

They did—they absolutely did. Spock could not deny how Jim had outwitted every foe, time and time again. “He has proven himself in his captaincy of the _Enterprise_.”

Just like Kirk’s idols, Lincoln and Holmes, his position had gone from incredulity to credibility.

Which had not been Spock’s prediction. He had convinced himself that coming onboard the _Enterprise_ was to prevent Kirk’s stumbling and likely bumbling throughout the galaxy. Kirk’s then-unknown diplomacy was a frightening concept, and Spock had reasoned that he’d be there to smooth the wrinkles and immature outbursts.

But Jim had always made sure there were none.

“Ah, Commander—that doesn’t frustrate you, does it?”

Admiral Pike was smiling as he said it, yet Spock felt a chill run through his body. One of the most humiliating moments of his life—losing control in a way he hadn’t since childhood. Few had been able to get under his barriers. He was supposed to be an adult, in charge of his own capacities, and yet Kirk had smashed the locks and splintered all the doors.

And now walked through them on a daily basis.

“The young fellow is so romantically poetic when he tries,” Holmes murmured, then threw away his cards. “I am tired of this game.”

Spock felt his head move without volition, still in a state of shock. “If you are bored, then leave.”

Holmes made a dismissive _hmm_ from his throat. “No, I don’t think I will. It’s rare to see a Vulcan experiencing an epiphany, I wouldn’t dare miss it.”

“I would rather be attacked by _tribbles_ than witness this act of _cowardice_ ,” Kor gruffed as he stood from the table. He made a look of distaste at his pile of currency and waved a hand in dismissal. “Love is not this complicated for Klingons.”

Spock felt his throat constrict and his vision dim. His lungs could not seem to take in enough oxygen—perhaps the atmosphere was deprived—and yet no one else seemed in distress. He touched his chest and idly remembered a superstition that if a person expired in dreams, then they expired in waking life.

“Come now, Commander Kor, Klingons are different in _a lot_ of things,” Admiral Pike said in Spock’s defense, yet did not seem to notice that Spock simply couldn’t breathe. “I’ve heard of your mating rituals, and your species is hardly one to judge.” The Admiral gestured to Kor’s chair. “One last game?”

Kor looked at it skeptically, then grunted in acceptance. “If it is finished after this.”

“I do not think it’ll be long, now,” Lincoln said consolingly as Keenser dealt their cards.

Spock looked wildly at all of them as he gulped large breaths. He would likely collapse at any moment, his body hyperventilating to the point of losing consciousness.

“I dare think not,” Holmes said as he shifted the cards in his hand. “This fellow will remember why he is dreaming any moment now, and despite our conversation here, he is actually clever enough to put the remaining pieces together.”

Spock wanted to glare, but instead his memory was doing just that:

_”If that’s what you want, Commander.”_

The statement had burrowed its way into an inner echo chamber, calling itself to mind as Spock had made his final rounds. And not only the statement, but the peculiar smile that Captain Kirk had worn—the firm grip on his desk, the tenseness of his shoulders, the light in his eyes that seemed to dim as Spock had discussed his reassignment.

It had bothered Jim, and thus it had bothered Spock.

Kor had thrown his king of hearts with a look of disgust. Pike had followed suit, along with Lincoln and Holmes—all the king of hearts, all of them in Spock’s direction.

Spock shook his head at his cards on the green—he would not look, he simply couldn’t look. He could not breathe and he needed Dr. McCoy. He needed to leave and seek medical assistance—

As Spock fell from his chair, his knees colliding with the carpeting, the sehlat bumped into him. It was almost comforting, the soft fur against his cheek, much like curling up with I-Chaya in his youth. His pet sehlat that had been mortally wounded while rescuing him during the _kahs-wan_ —a companion that he still sometimes missed.

_”It sounds like you really cared for him, Spock. And good reason—I’m glad he saved you, too. I mean, what other first officer could competently play chess with me?”_

Spock had euthanized I-Chaya, and now Spock wished I-Chaya could return the favor.

_“You’re going to kill him, Spock. He won’t know what to do without you.”_

Spock glanced up and felt his face slide against the fur, and yet he could see Keenser standing before him. Grumbling and muttering and seeming to curse him in his foreign language, he finally spat and threw down his hand of cards.

Spock was going to black out at any moment, and yet he saw the scattered faces of the king of hearts, the card that was becoming the backdrop of his nightmare.

“I—am—“ _dreaming_ , Spock reminded himself. And yet in dreams, he also seemed to panic at the notion of harboring emotions for Captain Kirk. He was leaving the vessel because of them, _not_ because of a newfound sense of duty.

He had fallen asleep instead of meditating on the subject, and now he was petting sehlats and gambling and being cursed at by his subordinate. What a peculiar sequence of events—although his meditations of the past week had not proved fruitful, so perhaps it was just as well.

“Just confess, dear fellow. What is the harm? Your entire life changing?” Another skeptical _hmm_. “Just run to him and tell him you can’t leave. There are worse things in life than stating simple feelings.”

Spock felt weary and worn down, and his vision swirled before finally whispering, “ _Fold_ ”—the world going black as he fell awake into reality.


End file.
